


Car Wash

by tifaching



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Hot Weather, Ice, M/M, POV Outsider, Sibling Incest, Voyeurism, Wet Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tifaching/pseuds/tifaching
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Dean wash the Imapala is a good way to spend a hot afternoon.  Sam's not the only one who thinks so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Car Wash

Minnie’s Café sat at the corner of Beech and Main streets, right on the edge of town, just across the parking lot from the Moonlight Motor Court. It was pretty much the only game in two towns for eating out and usually the breakfast crowd kept the place hopping between six-thirty and ten. Today though, Carla was doodling stick figures with sharp, pointy teeth and curled fingernails on the back of her order pad between sporadic trips to refill old man Shepherd’s coffee. Marge, who ran the motor court, spent half of last night blending up margaritas and regaling her with stories about vampires renting out half her rooms a few years back and a couple of hot, monster hunting brothers who’d come in to take care of the problem. Carla in no way believed in vampires, especially the terrifying variety Marge had spun her yarn about, so she added bunny ears to one stick vampire and a polka dot skirt to the other.

“Not so scary now, are you?” Sighing, she flipped the order pad right side up and dropped it onto the counter, hoping business would pick up a little. When Carla worked, she like to work. Another half dozen people came in during the next few hours, but the place was empty when Carla punched out at two. She could see the shimmer of heat rising from the asphalt of the parking lot through the front window of the café. Maybe people were just too hot to eat.

The thermometer outside the door read ninety-five degrees and two steps out of the air conditioned cafe she could already feel sweat pooling at her hairline. It was fine with her, though. After she changed out of her uniform she’d settle down in the green plastic chair outside her unit, pop open a cold one and bask. A girl who spent her first twenty-two years in Saskatoon wasn’t ever going to complain about the heat. During her shift a second car had joined her Toyota Echo in the motor court’s lot- a dust covered monster parked a few doors down in front of the end unit. Carla shook her head as she passed it. She wasn’t an expert on cars and no one in this town drove anything even close to a current model, but even by that standard she was sure this car was old. Deserving of more respect than to be left so dirty, even in front of no star motel like this one. To make matters worse, she’d been lobbying Marge for the end unit since she hit town and Marge hooked her up with the job at the café, but the manager always turned her request down. Reserved, she invariably said, though in the eight months Carla’d been there this was the first time it’d been occupied. Marge waved at her through the window of the motor court office and Carla waved back before pausing by the strange car. WASH ME she wrote in block letters across the hood, finger cutting through the dust to show the car’s midnight black paint job beneath its coating of grime. The trunk got a huge frowny face.

“Did you just do what I think you did?” Marge yelled from the office door.

“It needed to be said,” Carla called back. “And the car can’t speak for itself.” She followed Marge’s pointing finger to a hose coiled by the end unit, hooked up to the spigot around the corner, she supposed. A bucket sat next to the door, a bottle of Armorall car soap beside it. “Huh. Guess the owner and I agree!” Sketching a salute to Marge, Carla hurried to her room. The sooner she got changed, the sooner she could enjoy the rest of her day.

Ten minutes later, showered and comfortable in a pair of shorts beneath a pink tank top, Carla swept her hair up into a ponytail slipped on a pair of flip flops. Her mini fridge was distressingly empty of beer, so she grabbed a bottle of water and headed out the door, stopping short at the sight of Marge, seated in the middle chair of the three pulled up outside her room. A green cooler graced the area next to her feet, open and ice filled, but empty of bottles. A man crouched just down the walkway, back to them, filling the bucket with the hose. At the sound of Carla’s door closing he turned and speared her with a deadly glare.

“You write on my car?”

“Sorry. Just seemed like too nice of a car to be so dirty. I didn’t know you were about to wash it.”

“Well, yeah, she is.” He seemed slightly mollified by her compliment of the car, but only slightly.

“Carla, have a seat.” Marge patted the seat of the chair next to her. “There’s beer on the way and you’re welcome to join us.”

“Us?”

“Dean’s going to wash the car, Sam’s fetching beer and we’re going to hang out and see how beautifully the car cleans up.” Marge grinned. “You got anything better to do?”

Carla watched Dean stretch smoothly to his feet, eyed the broad shoulders beneath his olive green t-shirt and followed the line of his back down to where faded jeans rounded the curve of his ass. Bow legs to boot. “No,” she said to Marge. “I can’t think of a thing.”

Dean sprayed the car with the hose, sluicing the worst of the dirt off before tackling the more resistant spots with the sponge and ignoring the women completely. He was holding a conversation with the car though, snatches of it audible as far as the porch.

“Baby? Sweetheart? Why do guys confuse cars with women?” Carla said with a sigh.

“Maybe that car’s one of the few things in his life he can call his own. Maybe it takes care of him and he takes care of it, and there’s nothing wrong with caring about what you care about or loving who you love.” Marge waggled her eyebrows. “Just my take on life in a nutshell. And sweetie, he knows the difference between cars and women. Believe me.”

Carla glanced at Marge, sixty if she was a day with sunset red curls frizzed into an overgrown halo and sequined glasses on a chain around her neck. “You go, Margie. Do tell.”

“Hah!” Marge brayed, slapping Carla on the knee. “I wish. No, he came through town a few years back and Mandy over at Hard Times and Pam down to the DMV both had glowing reports of his, uh, prowess.”

“You do know I’m right here, right?” Dean slapped the soap coated sponge against the windshield, splashing suds onto his t-shirt.

“Oh, we know, hon. We can see you just fine.”

“And it’s five hundred degrees out. I need a beer, Marge.”

“Do you see Sam?”

“No.”

“Then it’s still on its way. And if you’re overheating just spray yourself down with the hose. That’ll do the trick, I think.”

“Oh, it sure will,” Carla whispered, sharing a grin with the older woman.

“Not a fucking wet t-shirt contest,” Dean muttered, disappearing from view as he ducked down, presumably to wash the wheel wells.

“Don’t like it much when the shoe’s on the other foot, do they?” Marge peeled open a can of peanuts and set them on the railing.

“Hey, think I’ve got a shot with grumpy but gorgeous if I apologize for dissing his car caretaking abilities?”

“Sorry, hon, but he’s off the market now. It seems a few things have changed since he last stopped by.”

Dean popped up again, resolutely ignoring them as his muscular arms scrubbed the top of the car. Moisture beaded his face and the neck of his shirt was dark with sweat.

Carla dipped a handful of ice cubes out of the cooler and sucked one into her mouth, rubbing the rest across her chest. It was fucking hot out here. “Hang on a minute.” A light went on as the car began to gleam ebony with each pass of the sponge. “Sam and Dean the vampire guys? In your story they drove a black muscle car.”

“Vampire guys?"

Carla started and reached without thinking for the beer that was being offered. The hand holding it was large and attached to a well muscled arm that led up to even broader shoulders than the ones she’d been ogling. How the hell had he snuck up on her? Hazel eyes, gorgeous hair and that face…damn but these guys came from a good gene pool. He didn’t seem to be as surly as his brother either. Definite possibilities here. “Yeah. Marge was just telling me about you two. You’d be Sam, right?”

“I would. Pleased to meet you…”

“Carla.

“Pleased to meet you, Carla.” Sam leaned back in his chair, mile long legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He shifted his gaze to Marge. “Vampire guys?”

“There was tequila involved,” Marge said with a shrug.

“You have tequila?” Dean snagged a beer from the cooler and twisted off the cap. Carla’s mouth hung open as he lifted it to his lips and swallowed and she muttered thanks as Sam dumped another half dozen ice cubes into her hand.

“Not anymore, I’m afraid.”

“You could help you know, Francis.” Dean quirked an eyebrow at Sam. “I was the one who got the crap kicked out of me last night and you were the one who said I should avoid strenuous activity.”

“Are you okay?” Sam sat up, but Dean waved him back.

“I’m fine. Washing my baby isn’t exactly wearing me down. Just thought I’d ask, is all.” Dean ambled back to the front of the car, beer bottle dangling between his fingers, and began rinsing the final section, carefully spraying windshield to bumper, soap suds scattering before the rush of water. The t-shirt clung to his back and Carla licked her lips at the view, vaguely noting the rattling of the cooler as Sam hauled out his own portion of ice. Her handful of ice cubes sacrificed themselves to the cause of her not spontaneously combusting as Dean turned and leaned against the hood, left hand keeping him balanced as the right held the hose over his head and gently squeezed the nozzle. Water showered over sweat soaked hair, slicking it down around his face and rippled over his shirt to drench his jeans. When it seemed like he couldn’t handle any more without drowning, he dropped his head and sagged back against the car, left arm wrapping around his abdomen while the hose fell to his side.

“Dean!” Sam’s chair tumbled over backwards from the force of his jump out of it as he sprinted toward the other man. Carla moved to follow, but Marge gripped her arm and held her still.

“Don’t tell me _you’re_ going to fall for that,” she said with a grin.

Carla let out a shaky breath. “Oh, please, oh, please,” she murmured and something, somewhere was listening.

As soon as Sam was in range, Dean straightened and nailed him full in the face with a blast of water. Sam roared, lunging forward, but Dean ducked out of reach and, snaking the hose around with him, spun to soak Sam’s back. Sam retreated a few steps, panting and Carla leaned forward, unconsciously tipping her beer bottle until the cold liquid ran unnoticed over her toes. Water droplets flew as Sam shook his head, glorious hair flying wildly around his face. Dean laughed and doused him again. Sam charged and all out war ensued with water sprays occasionally reaching Marge and Carla on the porch. Eventually Sam, now just as drenched as Dean, wrestled the hose away and tossed it to the ground. He spun Dean around and forced him face down against the car’s hood, pinning him there with the weight of his body.

“God in heaven,” Carla breathed as Sam’s muscles came into clear view beneath his soaking wet t-shirt and jeans. “Is _he_ off the market too?

“’Fraid so,” Marge said as Sam leaned forward, hair curtaining his face as he whispered into Dean’s ear.

“I don’t know, Sammy, that sounds pretty strenuous to me.” Dean tried to push himself up, but Sam held him effortlessly, murmuring something else just out of Carla and Marge’s earshot. “Oh, yeah.” Dean nodded. “Hell, yeah. I think that’ll work.”

Sam straightened and levered Dean up, hooking Dean’s arm over his shoulders and dragging him toward their room. “Excuse us, ladies,” he said with a dimpled grin that made Carla ache to climb him like a tree. “We’ve got to get out of these wet clothes.” He snaked a hand under Dean’s soaked shirt and Carla gaped at its outline splayed against Dean’s belly.

“Need any help?” Marge asked and Sam ducked his head as laughter rumbled from his throat.

“Not this time, Margie.” Dean turned his head and smiled, and there wasn’t enough ice in the damned world to cool Carla off now. “But if we ever do, you’ll be the first one we call. We might even let you bring a friend.” His grin devolved into a smirk. “If you can find one that didn’t deface my damned car, that is.”

“It needed to be said.” Carla matched Dean smirk for smirk and he was straightening up, ready to engage, when Sam’s hand landed hard on his rump with a wet thwack.

“Right,” Dean said with a wink. “Out of these wet clothes.” Hooking his fingers into Sam’s belt loops, he propelled him to the door before shoving him through and slamming it shut.

“I thought you said _brothers_." Carla shot Marge an accusing look.

“I also said _vampires_ but you didn’t believe that.” Marge was innocence personified. “I don’t know, I just thought brothers made a better tale. What? There was tequila involved!”

“You did have me going there for a while.” Carla bumped Marge’s shoulder. “And it was a pretty good story.”

“Feel free to use it any time you like.” Marge squelched out into the parking lot and began to roll up the hose. “And don’t forget to include the sequel where the hot, vampire killing brothers wash the car.”

“Yeah,” Carla pushed herself out of the chair. “I just gotta…gotta…um, go inside and commit that bit to memory. Yeah. Ah…catch you later, Marge.”

“Hey, Beautiful,” Marge murmured when she was alone with the Impala, rubbing her hand along the satiny finish. “Just as gorgeous as the night you carried those boys roaring to my rescue. You bring them back anytime they need a place to rest, you hear?” She didn’t even blink as a loud crash sounded within the room and the door shuddered as something heavy was shoved up against it. Giving the Impala another pat, she headed back to the office. “Any time at all.”


End file.
